The Avenging of Enjolras
by 16-horses
Summary: Courfeyrac makes the mistake of stuffing snow down Enjolras's back. Vengeance is swift and not very subtle. Original title: Enjolras's Revenge.


Winter hung gray and crisp over Paris. Snow lay spread out upon the streets; little white hills heaped against lamp posts, kicked apart by passing horses and shrieking children. The faintest breath of a chill wind scampered over the heads of people walking by. Two boys in their early twenties stood leaning against a store front, hands in coat pockets, commenting on the passersby.

The taller of the two boys, lithe and dark-haired, pointed to a man stalking past. "He walks like his shoes are too tight."

The smaller, brown-haired boy made a wry face. "I'd say his shoes have holes." He grimaced and raised one foot, looking at his sock-clad toe peering through a hole in his own shoe. The movement caused his bony knees to poke through the holes his pants.

The taller boy poked him. "You live in one of the biggest houses in Paris, and yet you wear holey shoes and holey pants?"

The small boy looked hurt. "They're my favorite shoes."

"Don't lose your petals over that, Prouvaire." The dark-haired boy put an arm around his friend's shoulder. "It's not your fault you're such a sap."

Prouvaire blushed to the roots of his hair, but mustered his small voice. "Well, then, Courfeyrac, that makes you a – a –"

Courfeyrac tipped a wink at a yellow-clad girl walking by. She giggled and held a gloved hand to her lips, and Courfeyrac struck a coy pose.

Prouvaire blushed again. "A flirt."

Courfeyrac gave him a shove, which sent him sprawling in a snow bank. With a squeak of dismay Prouvaire struggled out of the snow, flinging his scarf out of his face and shaking snow out of his long hair. A few dried flower petals spilled from his jacket pocket. He scooped them up.

Courfeyrac eyed the petals. "I was wondering why I smelled marigolds. Oh, look, it's Enjolras!"

Prouvaire looked up to see a tall young man walking down the street, his long blond hair flipped over one shoulder. Girls fluttered their eyelashes as he walked by, but he paid them no attention. As he neared the two boys, Courfeyrac raised a hand in greeting and smiled. "Good morning, o great chief of revolution."

The leader of the Friends of the ABC paused long enough to fix Courfeyrac with an icy glare, but his blue eyes softened when he saw Prouvaire. "Hello. You are coming to the meeting this afternoon, right?"

"What? Oh, yes, right, of course." Courfeyrac, picking at his fingernails and eying a patch of snow, seeming to disregard Enjolras further. The blond young man raised an elegant eyebrow, then turned on his heel and continued walking away with a long-legged stride.

Prouvaire made a shy smile. "He's so devoted to the cause, isn't he?"

"That boy's got a board strapped to his neck and bracers on his lips," Courfeyrac commented.

"What?"

"Have you ever seen him smile? Visions of revolutionary glory shine before his eyes, but he doesn't seem to take pleasure in any of the good things in life." Courfeyrac followed another girl with his eyes, then let his gaze drop down to the patch of snow he looked at earlier. A smirk played about on his lips. Dropping to one knee, he scooped up a good-sized ball of snow. He straightened; gazed after Enjolras's retreating figure.

Prouvaire's pale blue eyes widened in horror. "You wouldn't."

Courfeyrac held a finger to his lips, grinned devilishly, and took leaping strides after Enjolras, stepping on his toes and avoiding spots of snow that would crunch under his shoes. Prouvaire watched, mesmerized.

Enjolras apparently heard Courfeyrac and stopped, but his doom struck before he could react further. Courfeyrac closed his hand over the back of Enjolras's collar, yanked his coat and shirt out, and stuffed the handful of snow down his bare back. Enjolras jumped, yelped, arched his back, and twisted about in a desperate attempt to dislodge the ball of ice burning into his skin. Prouvaire let out a gasp of terror. Courfeyrac's days were numbered. He clasped his hands, willing Courfeyrac to make good his escape, but no, his reckless friend stood by within easy reach of revenge, incapacitated with laughter.

Unwilling that Courfeyrac should face death alone, Prouvaire dashed toward him, slipped on a shiny slick of ice, and crashed into his hysterical friend. Courfeyrac looped his arm around Prouvaire's shoulders and went on laughing so hard he started hiccuping.

"COURFEYRAC!" Enjolras roared, attempting to reach down his collar to try and scoop the snow out. "You are so going to –"

"Eat a snowball!" Courfeyrac whooped and collected another handful of snow. Prouvaire, himself hiccupping with panic, tried to warn the other of his imminent doom, but could only get enough breath for a gasped "Coof!"

"That's how to lighten up such a gray day," Courfeyrac snickered. He tossed his snowball in the air a few times and made ready to launch.

He never did.

At that moment Prouvaire spied out of the corner of his eye two more young men striding purposefully toward them. He recognized them as Combeferre and Laigle, both members of the Friends of the ABC. With calm looks on their faces, they crossed the street, arms swinging, eyes on Courfeyrac. Prouvaire didn't know what to say.

He didn't need to say anything. Ten feet away the two young men leaped forward, already crouching to gather heaping snowballs. Prouvaire let out a yell – of fear or surprise, he didn't know – as Combeferre seized him by his scarf and hauled him away from Courfeyrac. Laigle caught Courfeyrac by the collar and with the same unruffled expression poured a deluge of icy snow down his back. Dropping his snowball, Courfeyrac shrieked and writhed, his long legs flailing, but Laigle kept a firm hold on his collar and let him pop up and down in his shock and agony.

Prouvaire lost his last shred of control over his voice. He opened and closed his mouth a few times as he stood in Combeferre's grip. Enjolras watched the proceedings with interest, even while engaged in an awkward and undignified struggle, pulling his coat and shirt up to get the snow out and hoping no one would look. Prouvaire cleared his throat and opened his mouth once more, meaning to explain it all to Combeferre and Laigle.

Unfortunately for him, right then Combeferre chose to deal with Courfeyrac's partner in crime, and promptly thrust Prouvaire down on his hands and knees and drove his face into a bank of snow. All of Prouvaire's protests came to an untimely end in a stifling white mountain.

A fine sight graced the streets of Paris: Enjolras scraping snow out of his shirt and showing an appalling amount of bare skin, Laigle happily dumping masses of snow down the back of Courfeyrac's now soaked shirt, and Combeferre feigning boredom as he pressed down on the back of the hyperventilating Prouvaire's head. More than one head turned to behold the wreaking of vengeance.

Enjolras shook out the last of the snow, straightened, and put his clothes back to rights. He stood silent for a moment or two and watched his friends punish his tormenter and the innocent Prouvaire, then took a few steps forward and laid a hand on Laigle's arm. "He's had enough."

Laigle's smile showed a trace of smugness, but he released Courfeyrac, who sprang away still yelping and clawing at his back. Combeferre took the hint and helped Prouvaire get up. Prouvaire sucked in air like a bellows, his face shiny red with cold and mortification. He brushed snow from his hair for the second time that day and spluttered, "I – didn't – do – anything!"

Combeferre laughed his rare laugh (though not as rare as Enjolras's) and shook snow from his coat sleeves. "Sorry. I mistook you for Courfeyrac's co-conspirator." He looked down at Prouvaire's toe poking through the hole in his shoe, then at his blue knees through the holes in his pants. "You didn't need it, at any rate."

After practically throwing off half his clothes to dispose of the couple of gallons or so of snow lodged down his back, Courfeyrac faced his castigator and his avenged victim. His eyes popped wide as he tried to form a complete sentence. "All right, all right, I deserved that. _Touché_."

Laigle placed a hand on Enjolras's shoulder and cocked an eyebrow at Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac looked to the sky as though hoping for some sort of divine intervention, then growled, "Sorry, Enjolras. I just wanted to see you break expression."

Enjolras stood motionless; his face flickered. Then he smiled. A small smile, but a smile nonetheless. Courfeyrac managed a miserable smile in return. Combeferre and Laigle looked at each other and burst out laughing. Prouvaire couldn't see anything funny, but he forced out a few giggles. Enjolras nodded gravely to Courfeyrac. "I will be seeing you at the meeting in a few hours. Please do not be late. And there are no snowballs allowed." With a smile still playing about his lips he walked away, if in a rather stiff-legged way.

Laigle eyed Courfeyrac, as though considering dropping more snow down his back, but restrained himself, instead saying, "You don't know how long I've wanted to do that."

"You're going to want to get out of that shirt before it freezes on your skin," Combeferre added, and the two linked arms and sauntered away. Courfeyrac watched them go with a murderous look on his face. Prouvaire stared at the big wet patch on his back. He dusted his snowy pants off and faced Courfeyrac with large eyes. He didn't think he wanted to remain in Courfeyrac's company any longer, in case he tried anything else, but the chastised torturer had learned his lesson.

Courfeyrac rubbed the back of his neck and grinned. "Whatdya say, Prouvaire? Same time next week?"


End file.
